I struck at the glass walls but to no avail,
It started to rain, but the raindrops were pale.
The drops were rough and stung as they fell,
This seemed to me, like a different type of hell.
The dunes started to form, rising above my knees,
Broken fragments of my past everywhere could be seen.
They don't leave me alone, haunt me with memories,
Enveloping me in grief, things I don't want to see.
They trickled to form statues, of familiar faces,
Blown away, only to be replaced with the scenery of visited places.
Silently I sank in a sea of beige,
As the sand filled up to the narrow passage.
I stayed buried under the generations and sandy sheets of rain,
I'll just have to wait now, until someone turns back the time again.
- Aastha Mehta
YOU ARE READING
Slowly Drowning
PoetryFrom 2am thoughts, to 2pm reality, From being bullied by your own, to society's brutality. From the darkest corners of my mind, To the abused, unloved, brave and always kind. From the ones who have no home, To the ones who love being alone. From the...
